The Wizarding World Through the Eyes of a Drunk
by memorieslost05
Summary: Hermione is drunk. Drunk as a skunk. Not that skunks can be drunk, of course. Rated M for swearing and naughty moments.


A/N: hey guys, long time no see! I last updated my profile five months ago and updated what, nine months ago? JEEZ. To make up for my long, unexplained absence, I'm going to try and update as much as possible during the remaining eleven days of my holiday. I started writing this a couple of weeks ago on my phone in the format of a one-shot. I hope you enjoy it!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, Narnia, Wonderland, etc. Don't sue;) I'm skint.

WARNING: flamers beware. I now carry a portable flame extinguisher. So basically, bring it. I don't need you to tell me that Hermione's out of character as this is how I decided to write her. Everyone deserves a break from the goody two shoes routine every once in a while, even Hermione and myself. Hermione does it by getting drunk, I do it with the internet. That was not an intended innuendo. Please enjoy.

WARNING 2: there is a possibility that your childhood will fall to ruin with the unveiling of this one-shot.

WARNING 3: Hermione is drunk throughout the whole of this fic.

WARNING 4: I'm using 'fork' instead of the 'f' word, watch out for it.

WARNING 5: this one-shot is the product of an exploded imagination.

WARNING 6: Quick, run, I've used the word 'WARNING" too many times, it's gonna blow up;)

Strolling down Hogwarts' corridors at night without becoming an unintentional voyeur was unavoidable in a castle of horny teenagers. Everywhere she looked there were couples. Couples in cliché little alcoves, devouring each others faces, teenagers hidden behind strategically placed statues, clothes scattered around them, and lovers hidden in empty classrooms, fulfilling long hidden fantasies with their partners. Merlin did she hate the late hours of Valentine Day evening. It could have been for the fact that she was boyfriendLESS once again, her latest conquest having run off with a centaur of multiple gender, or because of the fact that she had, courtesy of Professor Snape, a ten page essay (_"and no more than that Granger, I'm warning you!"_) due in the next day . Thanks to Lavendar and Parvati bringing their love lives into the bedroom, she had been asked to either "_get out or join in_", therefore denying her her writing materials. Now locked out of Gryffindor Tower, a flask of whisky ("_strictly for emergencies" her Dad had said before stealthily slipping the flask into her suitcase whilst his wife's back was turned_) in one hand, a chewed quill, its nib broken, in the other, Hermione was not happy and was looking for someone to vent at. Imagine her joy at coming across one of the main protagonists in the drama that was her anger. "Profesher Shnape!" she called, "Profesher!". Spinning on his heel, Snape turned to face her. He raised an eyebrow yet said nothing, fully aware of the fact that provoking a drunk holding something sharp, by taking away priveliges was a bad idea. Especially when said drunk had an IQ higher than the Muggle scientist's, Albert Einstein. The revenge she'd be able to come up with such a mind would be magnificent, yet painful. "Yes Miss Granger?". He raised an eyebrow. "Profesher, you bashtard."

"I was under the impression that my parents were married before I was conceived, as unhappy as said marriage was, thankyou Granger." She staggered slightly to the left, leant against a wall and carried on. "Fork off with the long words Shir. Ten pagesh? I'm not a forking robot Shir! Do it yourshhhelf!" This said, she staggered off with a swagger to her walk, confident that her words had sunk in. The Professor just looked on, one eyebrow still raised, musing over possible punishments for future reference.

Someway down the hallway, Hermione was crouched on the floor, head against the wall, her drunken mind creating all kinds of possibilities. Currently, she was in Wonderland, the White Rabbit (aka Peter Pettigrew's ghost)having dragged her through a crack in the stone floor. "Late, we're late! Very, very, very late!" came the ghost's whiny voice as he pulled her into a garden of roses. She felt him drop her hand and, grumbling drunkedly under her breath, she stood up and began picking leaves from her hair. "Forking fridgid Fredrick, all hish forking fault! And that forking bat too! Yeah, him ash well! Fork both of them, and their spoons too, the forking b-" A large, dark shadow looming over her had interrupted her rant. Shielding her eyes with a shaky hand, Hermione peered up at the large figure. Completely blocking out the sun, Hagrid, dressed in dungarees and a stripy shirt, was offering her his large paw. Two Hagrids. Or was that simply the alcohol speaking? She closed one eye. Nope, there were two. Why were there two? Dayummmmm, she needed another drink. She took another swig from her flask.

"You must be Alice!" The Hagrids said together, grinning madly. Accepting their offered hands, she pulled hersef up. "I'm not Alish, I'm Herm-He-Hamione. No, Hermion-argh!" She shrieked as the Hagrids began skipping away, tugging her along with them. "Come on Alice!" they chimed in deep, cracked voices(if that were possible) , drowning out her cries of protest and the sound of heeled Mary Jane's burrowing a trail in the mud and leaves on the wood floor.

Part of their way into the journey, they ran into a leafy caterpillar smoking a fag and a grimancing tabby Cheshire Cat. "Hello dear," said the Herbology Prof- ah, caterpillar, plucking a 'Lockhard a la leg' cigarette from between her lips, "you have grown small, have you not?"

"I believe I hash Profesher Caterpillar Ma'm. Shmaller than Profesher Lockhart's brain Ma'm."

"Is that quite possible my dear girl?"

"I don't actually know. As you can shee, I'm not quite ***hiccup*** myshelf today Ma'm, Profesher Thingummy Ma'm."

"I can 'shee' indeed. Here, take this." She handed the girl a small white packet filled with some sort of soft substance. Hermione's eyes lit up. "Is it a Muggle drug?!" she asked excitedly, sniffing the pack. The good Professor sighed, blowing out smoky puffs of carbon dioxide. "That, my dear, is the powdered version pf a Sober Up Potion. You'll need it to grow taller, in time. When Scabbers pulled you down that hole, he cut away a good few feet away from you." Hermione looked at it in disgust, but pocketed it anyway. The two Hagrids (she'd named them Tweedlefork and Tweedleforker after being dragged over a particularly pointy root) took her by the wrists once again and began pulling her away through thr fag smoke. On the way out, she mused over the cat. It had had a distinct resemblance to her own Head of House's Animagus form, especially with the way it had been staring disgustedly at the fag box, named 'Special Lockhart'. If she recalled correctly, the slogan had been, 'everything except his memories locked away'. Yep, a very strong resemblance. Both the cat and the cigarette box.

"Shorry, where we goin again?' I sheem to have lost the directions about half an hour back, when you dragged me through that valley of rocks."

"Funny one, isn't she?" said Tweedlefork to Tweedleforker, grasping Hermione's ankle with both large paws to pull her over an extremely stubborn tree stump. "We're off to the Mad Hatter's tea party."


End file.
